Developments
by worldtravellingfly
Summary: How Rose Potter became Rosalie Evans, cellist, and girlfriend of Phil Coulson, portrayed in a series of one-shots. [Prequel to 'The End Is Just The Beginning To Something New']
1. First Meeting

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything but craziness!

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For 'Felicity Dream' who prompted this part of my little series of (somewhat) continuous one-shots.

This is a sort of** prequel to The End Is Just The Beginning To Something New**! Since fairly many of you had been interested in seeing the developing relationship between Rose and Phil Coulson.

Hope you enjoy!

Love, W

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**Warning:** violence, character death, Fem!Harry, past Draco/Rose

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**One** **Shot**: First Meeting

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The day Rose Potter's life was torn apart easier than a card house happened to coincide with her parents' death.

Halloween.

For eight years after the Final Battle, she had enjoyed a relatively normal, unexciting life. Rose married her rival/crush-turned-boyfriend on their two-year-anniversary. They were in love and the war had taught both of them to enjoy themselves while they still could.

It didn't matter that half of the magical population thought she was drugged on love potions or, as the other half claimed, assembling her own Dark army.

Rose could count on her best friends to always have her back. They believed her when she vouched for Draco's love and tried to get along with him, for her sake. Even Ron or Ginny. And Draco remained civil in their presence at all times, proving to them all he had truly changed.

Surprisingly, or not, Hermione managed to ensnare the blonde in complicated discussions of high-risk potions, establishing a tentative friendship.

Very tentative, but better than the usual exchange of insults from their schooldays.

Over the course of those eight years, even the most hard-headed Weasleys got over themselves.

Of course Rose's life couldn't just sail smoothly (her cursed luck never would allow that) but neither the fickle public nor the many fights between Draco and her dimmed her happiness - much.

* * *

They were vacationing in the nonmagical part of New York (because no one would immediately recognize them there just by seeing their joined hands) when it all went to hell in a hand basket.

Somehow ex-Death Eaters - unmarked during the War - had found out where they stayed; deciding to throw them a surprise party.

Draco and Rose were both well-versed in dueling, but holding their own against six skilled attackers in a dark alley proved too much for even them. Bombardas, Cutting Curses, Avadas, Stunners, Expelliarmus, Crucios, Blood-Boilers; they lit up the alleyway in a bad mockery of a bonfire.

Rose Stunned one of the masked guys only to get hit by another's silent dark-purple spell in the abdomen. She wanted to cry from the pain but composed herself.

A moment too late.

The same attacker had followed the unknown spell up with an Avada.

Draco (astonishing everyone who later heard about the incident) pushed her out of the way, taking the curse for her. Her grief-fueled fury activated a large burst of accidental magic, completely incinerating their attackers. They turned to ash before hitting the ground.

Although this magical explosion cost Rose her last strength, sending her directly into sweet oblivion.

* * *

When the redheaded witch woke again, everything was disgustingly _white_. The walls, the ceiling, the cursed hospital gown someone had put her in while she was unconscious - everything.

Even the _floor_.

Rose hated it within seconds. Slowly her awareness of her surroundings increased. Especially when it quickly became clear no one crowded around her bed, as her family usually tended to do when she landed herself in St. Mungo's. The nondescript walls were not decorated with animated posters of some kind of health slogan. ("Scraggle - get your preventive potion today!")

So Rose concluded she must have been treated in a mundane hospital.

What she didn't understand was how Hermione had not been contacted. She owned a cell phone - her number was Rose's emergency contact in mundane files. This led the witch to believe someone had either not identified her or refused to contact her family.

Now which was the case?

Just then the door finally opened. A man wearing an eye-patch and a long leather coat entered, followed by a dark-blonde suit. Both exuded a carefully cultivated air of danger.

Visitor number one reminded Rose of Moody, which led to memories of his death, followed by flashbacks to Draco's dead body falling to the ground. Instantly she pushed all her strength in her Occlumency shields. (Draco had helped her to finally understand that art due to being tutored by Snape.)

"My condolences, Mrs. Malfoy," Eye-Patch began in what she assumed he thought was a sympathizing tone. It sounded very...unused.

Rose nodded shortly, unwilling to show any emotions. They were unknowns so she would not underestimate them. "Thank you...?"

"I'm Nick Fury, this is Agent Coulson. We're from the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division."

"Quite a mouthful," Rose replied blankly, involuntarily impressed by his overwhelming resemblance to Alastor Moody. "Since you already seem to know who I am, I want to know where we are."

"In a top secret base of our organization," Agent Coulson answered. He probably was ordered not to reveal the exact location by his superior.

Although his response cleared up her earlier question.

"What do you want from me?" Rose demanded tiredly.

"I want to offer you a new life. We have heard about the going-ons in Britain. You abhor your fame..." Fury started but was quickly interrupted.

"What about my family?"

"If you insist on keeping in contact with them, we would find a way. It has to be non-magical though."

"So you know about that too?"

"We know almost everything there is to know, Mrs. Malfoy," Fury said imperiously.

Rose sighed. "Why? There has to be a reason for this _generous_ offer."

Eye-Patch's eyes glinted with intrigued amusement. "We would like to consult your expertise on certain matters whenever they should arise. In the meantime, we have prepared a new background for you."

For a moment the redheaded witch stared at him with a piercing glare (which never seemed to bother him), trying to determine his true motives.

Fury handed her a nondescript brownish file.

Rose flew over the information. They had already arranged an alias - Rosalie Evans - and even gone so far as to invent a CV for her that sounded much more convincing than anything she could have come up with herself.

"What about my job in Britain? I was promoted to be the assistant Head of the Auror office. Besides I don't know how to play cello or speak French. Nor has my family ever been to Oregon in recent history. You should probably check your sources' _competency_ if they told you that."

Only for a second, Agent Coulson's eyes twinkled with amusement. However Fury didn't seem fazed at all with her sarcastic response.

"The American Ministry of Magic has graciously agreed to take you on as liaison to our department. You get paid decently enough, no one will bother you and you can still work the job you seem to love so much," the man explained with the patience of a saint.

Rose sighed. His offer was too good to turn down. Britain had lost ninety percent of its appeal to her with Draco's death.

She knew he would immediately recognize her decision the moment she made it final.

Therefore Fury stood to leave.

"I suggest you learn how to play cello," Eye-Patch advised before exiting the room.

Rose rolled her eyes and quickly stomped down the almost overwhelming urge to childishly stick out her tongue at the brash man. Agent Coulson remained behind though.

"If you feel up to it, I would like to debrief you on the attack and answer any questions you might have," the blonde explained.

Unwilling to stall this conversation, Rose conjured a comfortable chair à la Dumbledore for the man and invited him to sit.

"This must come in handy," she heard him mutter.

"It does."

* * *

Then Rose recalled Halloween night for him, trying to get the unpleasant part out first. Later she would cry and grieve for her husband.

Agent Coulson gave her a hankie when she cried despite her tightly controlled Occlumency shields, never interrupting her or asking stupid questions.

"Do you have any questions?" the man asked politely.

She was impressed by his warm professionalism. Most people came across as cool and aloof whenever they talked to her about something work-related. (If they didn't turn into bloody fangirls.)

"Yes. A few. What date is today? When do I finally get to leave this room? How am I supposed to contact my family? What have I been hit with? Where can I learn to play cello? Who are you to me?"

Rose gave him brownie points for not groaning under her Hermione-esque onslaught of questions.

Instead he smiled lightly. "Today is November fifth, two pm. Unfortunately you will have to stay for about a week or two longer, depending on your recovery rate and the medical staff. I suggest you write a letter or dictate it to me so they will know you're safe but cannot contact you at the moment. Officially Rose Potter died on Halloween."

This didn't exactly surprise the redhead, although it probably should have. Fury had promised a new life to her, after all; without any of her fame.

Well, she was nothing if not adaptable.

"As to what spells have been inflicted on you, I regret to inform you that I cannot tell for certain. However, we have specialized medical facilities. They did all they could..."

"What injuries?" Rose interrupted briskly.

Agent Coulson squirmed just minutely, but it showed his level of discomfort. Aurors were trained to never show emotions when talking to a victim, except for compassion. Spies would probably be taught not to show anything if they were not specifically told what they were supposed to portray.

The redhead sighed. "Just say it bluntly. I'm not made of spun glass."

"A few grazes, akin to gunshots, some first and second degree burns, a sprained ankle and inner bleeding in your abdomen which led to a miscarriage and heavy scarring of your uterus," he replied uneasily. "I'm sorry."

She had finally conceived? There had been a baby growing inside of her? Draco would have been ecstatic, jumping for joy. (Albeit in the privacy of their bedroom.)

They had been trying for a baby for over three years. Both wanted so very much to have a child, a _real_ family.

Rose knew what heavy scarring to her uterus meant. She had been to too many Healers all around the globe to misunderstand.

A tear - just that single one - fell, rolling down her cheek to drop on the white sheet.

Agent Coulson respected her silence, allowing the witch as much time as she needed to gather her composure.

"Thank you, agent," Rose finally managed in a hoarse voice.

He simply nodded. "Do you want to continue or rest?"

"Just... let's get this over with, okay?"

"As you wish. Every employee of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division has a handler they can contact. I am to be your go-to person in case you need something while if we require a consultation you will be notified by me."

The redhead nodded. It seemed as if they worked much like the Unspeakables.

Besides, the less people knew her identity, the better.

"Alright. In that case you should probably just call me Rose. I'm not too picky with formalities. Plus if anyone asks I can just tell them you're an old friend from school or something. It's less suspicious."

Agent Coulson nodded approvingly, jotting something down on a piece of paper.

"Then you must call me Phil," he replied with a small, barely noticeable smile. "Now as to learning French and how to play cello..."


	2. Admission

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything you recognize.

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**Warnings:** language

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**Admission**

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Fury called Rose in when something went wrong on Phil's latest mission. The extraction of one of his agents had gone to hell in a hand basket, leaving her friend with a nasty bullet wound in his left arm.

Even though the medical team had done all they could for him, Phil just wouldn't wake up. So they had asked Rose if she would try some of her 'voodoo'-potions on him.

Or at least visit with him.

Which is how the twenty-seven-year-old found herself in some top secret base, sitting on Phil's sickbed.

Just like he had done so many times for her over the course of the last two years.

Her friend - not just handler - looked pale, fragile and it frightened Rose. She was too used to see him calm, confident and collected.

There was nothing the witch could magically do for Phil, he had to wake up on his own, but she thanked him for protecting her from Matt (an ex-boyfriend who had cheated on her with his secretary and then punched her when she revealed her intention to break up with him anyway) and taking such good care of her.

She also might have threatened to cut his balls off should he repeat that particular stunt which landed him in the medical bay...

After all, Rose knew the dangers of working for the government. Even if she didn't want to connect those dangers with Phil, she knew it was a high possibility to get seriously wounded or killed on the job.

If anyone heard her rant, no one commented on it.

Sometime during her rambling, Phil woke up and simultaneously a gorgeous redhead Rose had never seen before entered the room.

"Hey," her friend rasped out.

The witch smiled somewhat forcefully and got up from his bed. She had noticed the well-concealed concern in the stranger's eyes.

"I'm going to get a nurse or something. Don't move," Rose declared before leaving the small hospital room as fast as possible.

The other redhead nodded to her on the way out. The ex-Malfoy returned the gesture.

Relieved but feeling oddly angry, Rose Apparated home - after making sure Phil would be right as rain again. (The medical staff had assumed she would..._persuade_ it out of them either way and rather liked their anatomy the way it was, thank you very much.)

* * *

Only when she tried to fall asleep that night, Rose recognized the strange emotion as what it really was: jealousy.

Irrational, ugly, green _jealousy_.

Once the witch calmed down, she realized that maybe the gorgeous redhead had been the agent Phil was trying to extract in the first place.

Which led to another realization.

If Rose was jealous, she cared more deeply for Phil than she previously allowed herself to believe.

Over the last years he had become her best friend, a close confidante, someone she trusted implicitly. After all, Hermione and Ron were halfway around the world, unable to see or meet Rose.

So _maybe_ she slowly fell for the quiet man who tried to make her laugh and cheer her up.

However, the witch was not ready to admit to anything yet.

* * *

Whenever Rose didn't work on a case for either the Auror Corps or the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistic Division, (try to say that name quickly ten times in a row!) she practiced diligently on her cello.

Usually it soothed her agitated nerves and kept her cover from being blown.

So after her realization in regards to her feelings concerning one Phil Coulson, Rose played for _hours_.

Daily.

Her fingers even developed painful blisters which bled after six days of almost constant cello music.

She tried to convince herself that it was just a crush, nothing serious and would blow over soon. That the redhead was just one of Phil's responsibilities as a handler - _but wasn't she too?_ That she had nothing to fear, remembering his loaded look when he told her she deserved a happy ending. _But how could he be certain if he didn't spend more time with her?_

During those six days, Rose told herself a lot of stupid things.

* * *

On day seven, someone broke into the flat shortly after the witch's blisters opened, keeping her from playing any longer. Cursing harshly under her breath, Rose grabbed her wand and went into the kitchen where the intruder(s) seemed to wait.

She suspected it was someone from the agency-with-too-many-subdivisions but that was not very reassuring at the moment.

_Especially_ if it concerned her friend/love-interest.

When the witch spotted a slightly battered-looking Phil sitting in his designated seat at her kitchen table, injured arm in a sling, she stopped dead in her tracks for a second. Then Rose decided to act as if nothing out of the ordinary happened.

"You could have just used the key I know you nicked from my hallway-cupboard instead of destroying a perfectly good window," the redhead said as nonchalantly as possible.

Phil's lips twitched shortly in amusement. He managed to suppress the urge to roll his eyes though.

The witch sighed, subtly hiding her bleeding hand behind her back.

"That's the first thing on your mind when I break in because you holed yourself up in here for almost a week?" Phil asked bemused (but with a stern undertone hiding his worry).

Rose averted her eyes guiltily. After all, she had pretty much deserted him. "I'm sorry for worrying you. I just needed some space to think," the redhead muttered sheepishly.

However it provided him an excellent view on her left hand, so of course he noticed her bleeding blisters. Phil ordered her to sit and whipped out the first aid kit despite her meek protests. Gently he dabbed her wounds with Murtlap Essence and Dippany, both presents from Hermione, somehow smuggled into the country by her favorite agent.

Neither of them said a word for the length of that tedious procedure.

"You shouldn't have come here," the witch finally cracked. She was worried for him. "Phil, you got _shot_ last week!"

Her infuriating friend just shrugged. "Occupational hazard. What's more important right now is you. I can follow doctor's orders."

The redhead shook her head incredulously.

"Obviously not if you escaped from the medical bay to unnecessarily break into my flat," Rose retorted drily_._

Phil's lips twitched again. Why was he amused if she worried about his health?

"So do you want to tell me why you practically ran after I woke up?" her friend asked in a gentle tone that nonetheless brooked no argument.

The witch blushed a faint red, averting her eyes again. "No. Not particularly."

"Natasha mentioned you looked spooked. What happened? Did you have another flashback? I need to know if I'm supposed to help you, Rose," the agent argued, unwilling to let it go.

It was a good argument, just not the full truth.

They both knew it, but neither breached that elephant-esque subject.

"No, I didn't have a flashback. Just realized something big and you know how much I hate those white walls," she replied nonchalantly.

Rose had countered with another half-truth. Phil sighed with slight exasperation. He had noticed it of course. There was not much that he didn't notice - after all he was trained as a spy.

"Why are you really here, Phil?" Rose asked seriously.

They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, communicating silently but not quite sure about _what_ exactly. Both looked for something in the other's gaze which they thought they found.

Slowly, _very slowly_, providing her with ample time to move away or protest or do..._something_, her favorite agent leaned forward and kissed her gently. His mouth was soft, despite the recent hospitalization. His lips moved against her own in perfect synchronization, sending those damned butterflies she must have swallowed accidentally into a tizzy.

"That's why I'm here," Phil finally said, trying to break the tension lingering between them.

"I'm glad you came then."

He smiled the brightest, most genuine smile she had seen on his face so far. Nonetheless, Rose still doubted their chance at a happy relationship - outside of handler/agent.

"What about your job? I mean you have been compromised and you know what that means..."

Chuckling, Phil leaned forward to kiss her once more. "Fury has a soft spot for you, I think. As long as he can plead ignorance we are good. Besides - why do you think he called you in last week?" the blonde explained patiently.

Rose allowed herself a small grin. "I won't kiss and tell."

"Me neither," her agent promised. "Which means that as far as Fury is concerned, nothing is going on between us."

The witch grinned wider.

* * *

Phil directed them to the small two-seater in the living room. "So, do you want to tell me the real reason for your abrupt exit on Friday?"

Rose sighed. "I don't get a choice in this, do I?"

"Afraid not."

"I jumped to conclusions too quickly," she admitted sheepishly. "It was irrational and quite stupid because I knew what you felt at that point but I suddenly got jealous..."

"You were jealous of Natasha? She is just one of the agents I'm responsible for. Kind of like the Super-Nanny, to be honest."

This caused Rose to blush darker, trying to hide her embarrassment in his chest.

"I know," came the muffled reply. "I already said it was a stupid and irrational thought, didn't I?"

Phil carded his fingers through her red hair, calming her down again. Somehow he knew all of those little quirks she had in order to relax her completely. The only other person who had cared to learn had been Draco - and it took him three years to discover them all.

"You are much more beautiful than Natasha, Rose. She is a trained seductress/assassin. I try to keep her out of trouble and instill some sort of humanity in her. She is a very cold person on most days and only trusts her partner and me, to a degree. I know I can trust you with my thoughts, because you would never betray anyone - least of all people you actually care for."

From anyone else this would have been a strange declaration of love but Rose appreciated it nonetheless.

She summoned a pain reliever for Phil, sensing that he would need it. No one broke into an apartment, a week or so after getting shot, without suffering some sort of painful backlash.

Besides, she had no idea why he was insisting on wearing a suit and dress shirt. Really, the only thing missing was the tie.

"Thanks," he muttered after swallowing the disgusting concoction.

"You're welcome. Now, follow me."

Rose led him to her bedroom, swishing her wand in order to pull back the comforter. Not leaving Phil much of a choice, she gently pushed him on the comfortable mattress, tucking him in after freeing him from his blazer and transfiguring the rest of his clothes into sweatpants and a comfortable red t-shirt.

"You need to sleep. It's only been about a week," Rose said decisively, tone not brooking an argument.

"Alright," the agent agreed. "If you join me."

Involuntarily she smiled, rolling her eyes at his cheekiness.

"Don't push your luck," Rose chided but chucked off her shoes nonetheless.

In response, he just patted the empty space next to him.

* * *

When Natasha broke into the apartment (she had followed her handler inconspicuously after his escape from the infirmary) to check on him, the assassin found two sleeping people cuddled together in bed.

Coulson had slung his good arm around the slender woman's shoulders. In turn the other redhead had snuggled into his chest, bright hair revealing a strange scar on her forehead.

Natasha allowed herself a small smile at the sight.

Coulson deserved this.

So she vanished as silently as she had come, noting the cello leaning in the corner and some trophies for musical performances on a shelf.

Natasha would ponder later on how a regular cellist had been allowed on base - even called in by Fury - but didn't dare to question her tentative friend or partner.


	3. Discovery

**Disclaimer:** Don't own anything you recognize.

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Enjoy!  
Love, W

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**Discovery**

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Clint Barton aka Hawkeye was in the middle of reporting to Director Fury and his handler, Agent Coulson, when suddenly the latter's phone went off. Both Fury and Barton adopted a slightly annoyed expression because they were in the middle of something that potentially threatened the world's continued security.

Only something really important could have happened to force the blonde agent to accept the call.

"Yes? ... If it's not important I will call you back later. I'm in an important meeting at the moment." Clint could hear some person talking on the other end of the line but didn't understand what the female actually said.

However, it couldn't have been something positive, judging by the way Coulson's jaw stiffened or his face lost a shade of color. The narrowed eyes didn't promise good news either.

"She did _what_? ... _Again_? ... Yes, I'll make sure she actually takes it -"

'_This time_' seemed automatically tacked on.

The female's voice raised in volume but Clint still couldn't hear what they were talking about.

"Yes. I'll make sure to tell her that. Bye."

Both Fury and Clint stared unblinkingly at Coulson who rubbed his temple - the only outward sign of his quite impressive annoyance.

"Excuse me please. One of my agents escaped from the infirmary," the blonde explained shortly.

Instantly, Fury seemed to know who they were talking about. Clint had thought he saw it all - until the one good eye of the SHIELD-Director began to twinkle with suppressed amusement.

"How bad is it this time?" the coat-wearing, one-eyed boss asked in a demanding tone, giving away nothing of his amusement.

Coulson sighed. "An unidentified mixture of - liquids exploded when the 'team' we talked about tried to capture their suspect. Additionally she has contracted a few minor slashes, burns and a sprained wrist."

Secretly Clint was impressed that the other agent managed to escape the mother-henning nurses from sick bay in such a sorry state. Whatever 'unidentified liquids' they talked about, they were quite clearly above his pay grade, so Hawkeye assumed that they were more harmful than it sounded like.

_Something really must have gone south on her latest mission._

Fury dismissed Coulson with a nod.

As soon as the handler left, the Director focused his intense stare solely on Clint.

"I want him trailed. Report back promptly when Agent Coulson has discovered the missing person."

Hawkeye saluted before leaving the secure debriefing room. He convinced himself that the amused twinkle in the single brown eye really must have been a trick of light.

Nonetheless, Clint felt as if he was missing something.

* * *

Agent Coulson moved quickly; exuding an all-encompassing determination Clint had previously thought the stoic man incapable of.

Nothing seemed to faze the older blonde these days - as if he had seen stranger things before - even when Clint reported to having seen a man vanish into thin air. Or so it seemed at the time, considering he had been trailing the man for four hours before he suddenly went into a dark alley. When Clint arrived only moments later nobody had been there anymore.

The senior agent seemed to know he was being watched, most likely under Fury's orders, but didn't appear to mind the safety precaution overly much.

Clint was quietly relieved that Coulson recognized friend from foe. Unless the handler sold SHIELD's secrets, Hawkeye would keep out of sight.

Quickly it became clear that they were flying across the States. (Clint had inconspicuously hitched a ride with the same plane as Coulson chose.)

Apparently they were visiting the City of Roses.

How the agent managed to escape undetectably from the sickbay, flee to the other side of the States with those quite extensive wounds on a plane and minimal resources remained a mystery to Hawkeye who began to seriously develop respect for the troublemaker.

Not even Natasha was that good.

* * *

The flight didn't last long, but Clint noticed the rising anger in Coulson's eyes. He shivered, not wishing to ever infuriate his mentor/friend similarly. Besides, the archer was increasingly curious about this little incident.

Coulson took a cab from the airport, forcing Clint to do the same. He instructed his cabbie to follow the order for extra-pay.

They drove to a suburban area. A quiet neighborhood with cute little houses and primped gardens surrounded by white-picket fences.

_Quaint_.

A strange place to choose as an agent for SHIELD, the archer thought, although it provided good cover if she was experienced enough to keep a cover.

Finally the first cab halted, forcing Clint's ride to end as well - about 500 meters behind him.

Agent Coulson vanished inside of a small two-story house. It seemed to have been separated into two apartments, judging by the lay-out. The garden looked more natural and there was no fence - white or otherwise.

However, there was a nice sturdy tree from which Hawkeye would have the perfect vantage point for this bout of free entertainment.

As soon as the archer settled on a thick branch, twilight masking his presence, said show began.

Agent Coulson looked quite furious. He barged into the kitchen (which the assassin was looking at), mercilessly dragging a defiant redhead behind himself.

The archer grimaced in sympathy when he caught sight of her wounds. Three long slashes ran along her arms, exposed by the short tank top the escapee wore. A fourth one had been inflicted on her toned stomach.

Clint watched as Agent Coulson disinfected and bandaged those wounds while the female agent looked on with long-suffering disdain. At least she had left the original bandage on her wrist.

When the blonde senior agent finished patching her up, he pinned the stubborn redhead with a disapproving glare the watching archer promised himself to never deserve.

At first nothing out of the ordinary happened. Agent Coulson asked pointed questions, lips pressed in a thin line, but his emotions remained controlled. The unknown redhead rolled her eyes in annoyance, acting as if nothing more than a paper cut had been inflicted on her.

Judging by the grazes, she had been involved in a shoot-out or someone put her under heavy fire.

Clint thought she said something along the lines of 'calming down' to Coulson who - very uncharacteristically - blew his top. The archer had never thought the other blonde capable of flipping out about one of his agents' missions or screaming while his head reddened.

However, the wild gestures of his handler added only to the assassin's profound astonishment.

Mid-rant the unnamed redhead pulled Coulson down into a fiery kiss, only letting up when the man had called down.

If anyone looked up in the tree, they'd have spotted a gaping, wide-eyed SHIELD-agent.

* * *

Fury bored his eyes into the fidgety archer who had been ordered to the Director's office to report literally the second he stepped off the plane back. Agent Hill stood next to the head of SHIELD.

Hawkeye tried to not feel as if he was betraying Coulson's trust.

"Sir, Agent Coulson has retrieved the missing person. She needed immediate medical attention for four long-range shot-wounds, although she refused to comply when Agent Coulson treated her. Her wrist had still been bandaged."

Fury nodded. "Continue."

"The unknown agent replied calmly to Agent Coulson's questions although she seemed rather annoyed by his...persistence."

Agent Hill raised an eyebrow, as if she was anticipating something interesting or important.

Clint squirmed lightly under the three sharp eyes trained solely on his person. "Which she voiced in an off-handed comment. In fact, the agent acted as if she had not been seriously injured recently."

"How did Agent Coulson react?" Fury demanded to know.

_Is that mischief glinting in his eye?_

Clint mentally shook himself to keep on track.

"... Agent Coulson reacted - not well. He lost his composure, to be more precise, sir."

The three eyes seemed to zero in on him even more now. What the hell?

Agent Hill actually looked slightly smug. His superiors never resembled sharks that had scented blood more than in that particular moment.

The Director speared Clint with one of his super-piercing glares. "Continue."

"Well, the other agent dragged him down and kissed him - repeatedly - until Agent Coulson regained his composure somewhat," the archer rushed out, hoping Fury wouldn't shoot the messenger.

Neither of the two superiors seemed to be surprised by these news though. In fact, Clint noticed a twitch of Fury's lips indicating he was actually _pleased_ one of his highest-ranking agents slept with another.

"This talk never happened. Dismissed," the spymaster ordered.

Hawkeye fled as soon as he could. Nonetheless he heard the Director state triumphantly: "Hill, you owe me one hundred bucks."

The answering grumble and unmistakable sound of money being exchanged forced the archer to speed up even more in horror.

This was definitely not normal.

_Just a nightmare, Barton, nothing to get crazy about._

Yeah. Right.


	4. Threat

Sorry for not having updated sooner, but one of my friends from elementary school died a few days ago and I'm ill, so updates are slow in coming. This just sat on my laptop for quite some time. I hope you enjoy. I'll update PETAL as soon as the new chapter is done, so probably today or tomorrow.

Love, W

PS: This is a little sequel to the third installment of this story, because you all seemed to like Clint's POV a lot.

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**Disclaimer:** Anything you recognize is not mine.

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**Threat **

* * *

It had been a few months since Clint Barton discovered that Agent Phil Coulson, stoicism personified, actually cared for someone so much he thoroughly lost his composure. Although Hawkeye never spilled the secret, Natasha seemed to know too.

So when the archer needed back-up on a mission - he needed to infiltrate the headquarters of a very nasty organization that dealt in many unpleasant things like smuggling illegal chemistry weapons and couldn't hope to live without backup - Clint called Coulson after hesitating slightly.

He thought Tasha would join him, but apparently Fury needed her somewhere in Alaska, in the middle of snowy nowhere.

Which meant Hawkeye had to acclimate to another partner.

"Agent Red is going to join you for this mission," the blonde handler announced in an unusually tight voice.

"Thank you, sir."

"Do not question her methods. She knows what she's doing. Anything...out of the ordinary has never happened," Coulson ordered sounding very serious. "Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Barton replied, curiosity peaked.

Who was this agent if she was higher in rank than him and used _methods_ above his pay grade?

However the archer didn't voice these questions aloud. Now was definitely not the time.

"Try to keep her from killing herself," Coulson ordered. It was a demand, not a request. "She tends to do that a lot. If she gets hurt because you disobeyed orders, I will personally partner you with Frank from R&D for at least three months."

Frank from R&D was the stereotypical mad scientist-type. Any unlucky agents the higher-ups slotted to him for whatever length of time always received very _unusual_ wounds.

Clint hated the man, because he had it out for the archer.

Apparently Frank wanted to get in Natasha's pants and thought they, as in Clint and her, were an item which he needed to eliminate first.

_Creep_.

Plus, Coulson never threatened anyone idly.

_Ever._

Hawkeye shivered. (Which he would deny if anyone could actually see him right now.) "Understood, sir."

"Good. She'll be there in five minutes. Red hair, hazel eyes, petite. Don't ask her any questions."

This description sounded quite familiar.

In fact, it seemed as if Fury ordered Coulson's wild, rash girlfriend to back Barton up.

Holy shit.

He was _so_ dead.


End file.
